Patrick Stump Imagines

Far Too Young To Die

"Hello, Patrick. I came to check on you," the nurse sweetly said before closing the door silently and walking to where the 31-year-old was laying. "How are you feeling?"

He looked down and played with his fingers as if he was contemplating his answer. "Good. I feel something aching in my throat sometimes but there's nothing else. Other than constant cravings at 3AM," he laughed sadly. The nurse hummed in response as she shoved a thermometer in his mouth then checked on his vital signs, listing down important changes and details there may be.

The device rang as she ran to go get it, taking down the numbers before putting it back hastily on her medical bag. "Well, Mr. Stump, it seems like you have improved. If these continue, you can fight through this. You can survive."

Patrick nodded, but didn't take the details in. "Can (Y/N) come visit now?"

"Actually, she's been in the lobby for the past hour. I just needed a quick check before letting her in to make sure everything was alright."

The vocalist smiled at the thought of being able to see his true love once again. "Thank you so much."

"Just a part of my job, sir," she said before turning her heel and walking outside, you going in suit.

"Patrick!" you squealed in delight as you closed the door and ran into his arms. He groaned in pain as you lifted your head to pepper him with kisses across his cheek. "God, I've missed you!"

He chuckled before you rested your head on his chest, him burying his pale cheek in your hair. "I've missed you more. Don't you know how hard it is to wake up knowing that I'm just inside the same old walls that I have been in for three years now?"

"It's okay. According to your personal statistics, you're improving. You'll be out in no time, I promise," you replied. His smile spread before it fell, remembering something he's been keeping from you.

He started rubbing your back nervously which you noticed. You lifted your head as you pulled a strand of hair behind your ear as you looked him in the eye. "Patrick, what's wrong?"

He looked down and said nothing.

"What is it?" you reiterated. He shook his head before resting his hands on his face.

"Nothing. There's nothing to worry about. I'm fine. Totally fine," he mumbled as he let his hands fall to his body.

You chewed on your bottom lip for a second as a million things ran through your mind. "I'll go outside and get some coffee. Do you want anything or is there something that you're supposed to be on a diet on or...?"

He shook his head lightly with a small smile. "Nothing. Thanks, Love."

You nodded in agreement before going outside and to the hospital kitchen where the crappy-tasting hospital food dwelled.

Meanwhile, back in the room, Patrick winced as a huge wave of pain surged throughout his body, making him wail. He resisted himself as his hand weakly opened the bedside table's drawer beside him, pulling out a piece of paper that has been kept in there for who-knows-how-long. He did a quick do-over before placing it under his phone on top of the same table then groaned as he struggled to stand up, but fell back on the bed.

You opened the door and saw him on the bed, laying down on it quite irregularly. You put the coffee on the table before walking over to him. "Pat," you whispered. No reply.

"Patrick," you whispered louder. Still no response.

You started to panic as you kneeled next to him, checking if he had a pulse. Your heart shattered to pieces as your hand dropped slowly, realizing what just happened. You let out a loud cry as hospital staff started running inside, trying to revive your dead husband.

—

It's been two hours since he was ruled over as dead and you haven't left his hospital room since. You silently tried to make your way to the bathroom when something caught your eye.

Under his phone was a white piece of paper that looked like it has been there for years dude to the visible creases and marks on it. You walked to it and unfolded it.

March 22, 2013

It's the second day since I have been diagnosed with cancer and it's killing me. The guilt just settles in and eats you up like its prey. It's not (Y/N)'s fault that she has to suffer when she figures out. It's all mine. And I should be the one to blame.

Who am I to receive her? She's beautiful, smart, witty, caring, and probably everything that I'm not. It saddens me because I know for a fact that I don't deserve someone as lovable and charming as her. Yet I chose to broke her heart.

Why am I blaming myself? At least this would end all my problems. "We liked you better fat," "You were ugly during Soul Punk," "You're a rip-off." Pathetic. That's what I am. And this would lift such a heavy weight from the shoulders of my loved ones. Once this consumes me, no one has to worry about me.

I promised (Y/N) I'd stay with her forever, yet I think I can't do that. This is it. I'll only be living a few more years until no one sees me again.

I at least want to thank her for everything. The smiles, the crying, everything. Same goes for my family and to my son, whom is going to be born soon. It hurts to know that he'll have to grow up without a father.

And I'll never have the chance to give (Y/N) my promise of infinity. Of forever.

She's my top priority right now. Above my family; above anything. Because she gave me everything I wanted yet I gave her grief. I could give her so many things but I gave her nothing but something she'll have to dwell with for the remaining years of her life.

I'm such a fool. This is the worst day of my life.

Thank you, (Y/N), for everything. I've loved you from the start; and I'll love you until my very last breath and beyond. You're the sun that gives me the light that I need. You're the beauty amongst the madness in my world. You're the peace amidst war. You're my everything. Seeing you shatter like this isn't helping me. I want you to be happy, okay? If it involves finding someone else, I'm okay with that. As long as I can see that beautiful smile on your face, nothing will ever tear me apart from you. I hope you don't forget me. I hope you'll be able to raise our son as a happy kid, and I hope that you know that I love you.

I love you. So so so much.

— Patrick Martin Stumph.